


an unsung melody is mine (for safekeeping)

by pdameron



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jewish John Silver, M/M, i just really wanted Silver and Flint as Dads, references to past anti-semitism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pdameron/pseuds/pdameron
Summary: Family, Silver's learned, is nothing but a lie. It’s a balm to soothe old wounds, a fairytale people tell themselves to keep the pain of loneliness at bay.His memories of his true family, of his mother and grandmother, are fading, haunting things: a gentle hand running through the tangles in his hair; a soft, off-key lullaby, lilting in his ear; the smell of smoke, the blinding blaze of fire, a voice screaming -The point is, he doesn’t put much stock in the idea of family. He hasn’t for years.-----The Walrus crew discovers a three year old girl stowed away in the hold of one of their prizes. She and Silver have more in common than the others realize.





	1. a new crewmate

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thank you to my beta, anna (gammadolphin on ao3), for reassuring me and letting me know when my stuff is shitty and grammatically horrifying
> 
> title from "everything changes", a song in the musical Waitress

 

 

******

 

Silver’s had his fair share of families over the years.

There’d been his father, a warrior who’d died heroically in battle defending his men; he’d told the boys back at the home countless stories about that particular man. Then there’d been his invalid sister (and oh, the irony is not lost on him now), hardly more than a babe and fighting to live: she’d come in good handy when he’d been standing at street corners, begging well-dressed strangers for spare change. He’d had a sickly, silver-haired grandfather at one point, and the tears in his big blue eyes as he’d explained that he just _had to take that wooly blanket, ma’am, honest, he gets so cold in these winter months_ had gotten him off with a pitying smile and a pinch on the cheek from a saleskeep. When he’d been twenty his father had shifted from a martyred hero to a belligerent drunk; easier to relate to his new coworkers at the docks that way. There had been a younger brother at one point who’d died of scarlet fever on Christmas Eve when John had been a boy, so that’s why he _couldn’t celebrate, sir, it’s just too painful to think of little Andrew._

Mr. Baldwin back at St. John’s had told them time and again that they were all a family, brought together by God or some such bullshit. Silver (though of course that hadn’t been his name then), all of ten, hadn’t wanted any part of that, hadn’t wanted a lecherous old creep for a surrogate father or a room full of violent, lost boys for brothers.

Family, he’s learned, is nothing but a lie. It’s a balm to soothe old wounds, a fairytale people tell themselves to keep the pain of loneliness at bay.

His memories of his true family, of his mother and grandmother, are fading, haunting things: a gentle hand running through the tangles in his hair; a soft, off-key lullaby, lilting in his ear; the smell of smoke, the blinding blaze of fire, a voice screaming -

Silver doesn’t dwell on those memories too often.

The point is, he doesn’t put much stock in the idea of family. He hasn’t for years.

So why is it that when Billy Bones had first called him his brother, he’d felt an almost painful warmth spread through his chest? Why had there been a sudden tightness in his throat? Why does he look down at the Walrus men as they board the surrendered merchant vessel and feel such genuine concern for their well being, such genuine affection as a few of them look up and wave to him? Why does he look at these dirty, selfish, murderous men, and want nothing more than to deserve that brotherhood?

He’s pulled from his musings by the sound of a sudden shot. He whips around, gripping the rail tightly as he sees a fight break out on the lower deck of the merchant ship. Damn these merchant captains with delusions of grandeur; they all want to be the one who took the nefarious Captain Flint by surprise.

Flint, of course, doesn’t seem remotely fazed by this sudden turn of events. He draws his sword on the captain, guts him without a moment’s hesitation.

The skirmish is over within minutes, but Silver is still irritated. They’d surrendered; there was no reason for there to be any bloodshed today. Silver had laughed and called Flint a paranoid bastard for insisting the crew be on high alert and prepared for any sudden attacks _after_ their prize had waved the white flag, but here they were. They could have lost someone, if Flint weren’t so insistent on vigilance from his crew.

Why is the man always right about these things?

He’s distracted from glaring at the back of Flint’s head by Davies, one of the younger men, calling his name as he comes back onto the Walrus deck.

“Sir, there’s - there’s a _girl_ on board.”

“So?” Silver knows some consider it bad luck for a woman to stay on board a ship, but it’s not as if she’ll be joining them on the Walrus.

“There’s something wrong with her, Mr. Silver. It’s like she’s possessed, speaking in tongues or somethin’.”

Oh.

Well, then.

It’s a rare thing for Silver to make the journey across the planks and board a prize (it takes a lot more effort with one leg), but Davies seems genuinely alarmed, and it’s not everyday one sees a frightened pirate.

Silver highly doubts that she’s actually speaking in tongues. He doesn’t believe in such nonsense as demons and devils, but the last thing he needs is for Davies to run around shooting off at the mouth about some possessed girl laying a curse on the crew. So he follows him down to what seems to be the ship’s pantry.

Billy is waiting just outside the door, arms crossed and looking vaguely irritated as he speaks with Dobbs.

“She’s not speaking in tongues, for fuck’s sake,” he insists. “Do you know how many languages there are in the world? Maybe she’s speaking Turkish, or Urdu or something.”

“ _Tongues_ , Billy,” Dobbs insists, wide-eyed.

Silver chuckles at Billy’s growing consternation, and when he peers in and sees the girl in question, he starts to laugh even harder. “Dobbs, she can’t be more than five.”

“You think the devil can’t find his way into a child?”

Silver, shakes his head, still laughing as he moves into the room, walking slowly so as not to startle the girl. The amused smile fades from his face as he gets closer and finally hears what it is she’s saying.

He - He’s a little boy again, sleepily repeating after his mother as she pulls back the curtains from his window, letting in the morning light.

It’s not Turkish.

It’s not Urdu, or some other Asian language they hardly ever hear in these waters.

It’s Hebrew.

She’s reciting the Modeh Ani, no doubt the prayer she knows best, and the only one her panicked mind could think of. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the most she knew of the holy language. It’s all he really remembers either, if he’s being honest.

If he were a scared child hiding in a closet as men screamed and fired above, he’d be praying too.

It’s been so long since he’s heard the language, let alone spoken it; it’s enough to make tears sting at his eyes. It hurts, almost, to hear it in a voice that isn’t his mother’s, no matter how vague his memories of her are.

He glances at the men, who, thankfully, are paying him no mind and arguing over what Greek sounds like.

Silver turns back to the girl, who has stopped praying and is instead staring up at him with frightened, teary eyes. He sighs, holding out his hands in a placating gesture before clumsily moving to join her on the ground.

“Do you speak English?” he asks softly, hesitantly. There’s nothing he wants more than to say something in Ladino, or what little Hebrew he remembers, but he’s learned the hard way what happens when he lets slip the truth of his heritage. The last time he’d trusted someone enough to tell them what really happened to his mother, how he’d really found himself in England, had been -

He won’t make the same mistake twice, no matter how fond he is of Billy and the others. He just doesn’t know how the dread pirates of Nassau would react to discovering a Jew, even a lapsed one, amongst them.

When all he gets in response to the English is a blank, fearful look, he tries French. This is a French vessel, he’s pretty sure.

_“Parlez-vous Français?”_

Nothing.

 _"Hablas Español?"_ She nods, clearly excited.

Well, shit.

No wonder she’s hiding in the bowels of the ship; she’s probably a stowaway, no doubt sent away by her parents or some such person to keep her safe. It’s dangerous enough to be a Jew in Europe; to be a Jew in Spain  - a practicing Jew, no less, not even one of the conversos - is practically suicidal.

 _“My name is John Silver,”_ he says in Spanish, careful to speak slowly and gently so as not to spook her. _“What’s yours?”_

She hesitates, wringing her hands in her skirt nervously. For the first time, he regrets growing out his beard. He’d certainly look less fearsome, less like a pirate, if he were clean shaven. Eventually, she speaks.

“Catalina,” she whispers.

_“That’s a very pretty name. Catalina. Almost as pretty as ‘John’.”_

She rewards his joke with a shy smile, which he returns tenfold.

 _“I’m not going to hurt you Catalina,”_ he says, trying his best to placate her. The tears seem to have stopped for now, and he’s anxious to keep them at bay. _“And neither will any of the men on this ship.”_

She shakes her head at that, her big brown eyes wide and nervous. _“I’m not supposed to be here,”_ she says guiltily, peering over his shoulder to get a good look at Billy and the others.

He’d been right, then. A stowaway.

When Catalina realizes the men are staring right back at her, she lets out a startled “meep” and scurries back into her little corner.

 _“Well, we’re not supposed to be here either,”_ he reasons. This infallible logic seems to be enough for the girl, because she calms visibly, nodding to herself as if he’s made a compelling argument.

 _“Would you like to come aboard our ship?”_ he asks, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to leave this little girl to fend for herself, and he doubts there’s a man in his crew would feel differently. _“It’s called the Walrus,”_ he adds, because if there’s one thing he remembers about children, it’s that they fucking love to talk about animals.

As if on cue, her mouth drops open in surprise. _“Like in the pictures?”_ she asks excitedly, and, as if to demonstrate, she makes two little tusks on her face with her fingers.

He turns to Billy and the men, laughing. “Look boys, we’ve got ourselves a real live walrus!”

 

*****

 

It takes a considerable effort to get both Silver and his new friend across the thin planks: she won’t let go of his coat no matter how much he reassures that he’s not going anywhere, so trying to maneuver to the Walrus with both his peg and a child clinging to him like a limpet is a slow process.

Of course, once they’re back on the Walrus she immediately wraps herself around his good leg, hiding her face in his thigh. This poses a problem, as he needs to speak with Flint regarding their new crewmate immediately, and he can’t exactly walk over to him.

Eventually, he settles on waving his arms frantically until he catches Flint’s eye, unwilling to shout and startle Catalina, who’s still skittish as a colt. He looks ridiculous, and he doesn’t doubt that Flint is judging him _yet again_ for acting like an idiot, but for once he doesn’t mind.

By some stroke of luck, Flint is for once not covered in blood in the wake of a battle, so at least he won’t traumatize the girl.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asks bluntly, and Silver sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“If you wouldn’t mind watching your language Captain, we have a _lady_ present.”

Flint looks completely baffled for a moment, before he finally notices the extra appendage Silver seems to have grown.

“Oh, shit.”

 _“Captain!”_ he hisses, covering the ear that’s not pressed against his leg. Flint actually looks properly chagrined, but Silver doesn’t take the time he normally would to feel smug about it, instead bending down to speak with Catalina.

_“Catalina, this is Captain Flint. We’re going to go get you cleaned up in his cabin, alright?”_

As soon as they’d been out of the pantry and he could see her better, Silver had realized that she was absolutely covered in filth from head to toe. She looks as if she’s been rolling around in soot for the past week.

She peeks out at Flint from where she’s nervously burrowed her face against Silver, peering up at him with one big brown eye.

“Captain Flint, meet Catalina. She was a stowaway on the merchant ship.”

“Uh… _hola?”_ Flint tries, looking lost. Silver wonders if he’s ever had any experience with small children. Probably not, he decides as Flint gives her an awkward wave.

“Captain, I was wondering if I might use your cabin while I get her cleaned up?”

Flint, still staring at Catalina, nods his assent. “I - uh - I’ll have someone send a bucket up for you.”

“Make it Billy or Davies, if you would? She’s at least a little familiar with them.”

Dobbs still thinks she’s possessed. Best let him get over that before reintroducing them.

Another nod, and Flint walks away, though Silver notices him looking back at them several times as he speaks with DeGroot. He can’t seem to wrap his head around the sight of a child on his ship.

 _“Señor Silver?”_ Catalina tugs on his jacket, and Silver looks down at her with a smile.

He leads her by the hand up to the cabin, and after a moment’s deliberation he sits her down on the table normally used for laying out charts and plotting their courses. He’s hardly gotten her settled before Davies comes in, carrying a pail with a rag that’s _actually clean_. Silver wonders where it came from.

Davies is gone within a minute, but not before he gives Catalina a tentative smile. She returns it after a moment, though she’s still holding onto Silver’s sleeve.

It’s only once they’re finally alone that Silver turns to her, mind made up.

 _“Catalina,”_ he begins in Spanish, _“there’s something I need to tell you, but you must promise that it will stay between the two of us.”_

She nods, screwing her face into what she probably thinks is a serious expression as she waits.

His Ladino is rusty, and it takes a few halting starts, but eventually he says what he needs to: _“I’m Jewish, like you.”_

It’s as if he’s said some sort of magic words: her eyes light up, and she positively beams at him. She throws her arms around his shoulders, babbling excitedly in a broken mix of Spanish and Ladino. He hugs her back, careful not to squeeze too tightly as something horribly soft settles in his chest. He’d forgotten how easily children form attachments to new people, how quickly they grow to love.

He pulls back after a moment, putting his hands on her shoulders and giving her what he hopes is a stern look. _“Remember, this is our secret. We can’t speak Ladino in front of anyone else.”_

She nods, still smiling. _“Just like with Mommy,”_ she replies, and Silver feels a horrible twinge of melancholy as he remembers a similar conversation he’d had with his own mother as a child. He’d thought it had been a game of sorts, to have his own secret language with his grandmother and her.

He’d been so wrong.

He shakes himself from those bittersweet memories, reaching down and wetting the cloth so he can start wiping away the grime on her face. She scrunches her nose and pouts at the temperature, but she’s giggling soon enough as he coos at her in Ladino and Spanish alike, little nonsense phrases to make her laugh and distract her from the cold.

The last time he’d done anything even remotely like this had been back when he’d been twelve at St. John’s, when five-year-old Andrew Dorne had fallen in a puddle of mud and manure and he’d been the only one willing to brave the stench.

Speaking of…

 _“How old are you?”_ he asks. She holds out three fingers, and he takes the opportunity to wash her hands.

 _Three?_ She’s practically a babe. It makes his heart ache, to think of this sweet little girl, only three years old, hiding in some dark closet on a crowded ship.

Once she’s clean enough, he takes in the state of her clothes. They’re absolutely disgusting, and moreover, she can’t exactly go around getting her dress caught on things. He’d had to mend enough rips on his trousers growing up; he can’t imagine how many tears a billowing thing like this would accumulate running around on a pirate ship.

“Right,” he says to himself, and turns to Flint’s wardrobe. He pulls out one of the two shirts hanging inside, and takes a pair of the pants as well. Then he grabs a sash to use as a belt for her tiny waist. He holds the trousers up against her hips, then lays them out on the table and cuts them off at the knees with his pocket knife. They’d look ridiculous on Flint now, but they’re the perfect size for a three year old. He makes a similar tailoring decision when it comes to the shirt, cutting off a portion of the torso and shortening the sleeves considerably.

He turns around to give her privacy as she starts to undress, then he remembers that she’s a baby and probably can’t undo the laces.

He’s right.

So he helps her get dressed, tucking in her shirt and wrapping the red sash around her waist three times over before tying it in a tight knot to keep the trousers up. For once, the buttons on Flint’s shirt are actually _used_ , so the collar doesn’t slip right over her shoulders.Then he rolls the sleeves up several times so she’ll be able to use her hands easily. By the time he’s finished, she looks like the cutest little pirate to ever sail the seven seas.

And then it’s time to work at her dark hair, which is a tangled, curled mess.

This in particular he has decades of experience dealing with. He pulls his comb from his coat pocket, grateful he hadn’t thrown it overboard last night in a fit of frustration.

He approaches her again, and the look on her face as she sees the comb tells him she’s had similar issues with her own hair in the past. He dips the comb in the water and as gently as he can works it through the knots. It’s tortuous, and in the end he decides to put it on one long plait, so he can avoid going through that again anytime in the near future.

He doesn’t have anything to tie the braid with, so he undoes the leather strap in his own hair and finishes his handiwork with it. He’ll borrow another one off Joji later.

Silver slumps heavily into Flint’s chair, doing his best to keep the fucking excruciating pain off his face as she hops off the desk and spins around to assess her new ensemble. He might have overdone it today, crossing over to the merchant vessel and back, and then staying on his feet as he tended to Catalina. Still, he doesn’t want her to see him in pain: the last thing she needs is for her new friend to start grimacing at her.

Catalina climbs into his lap, jostling his leg as she gets settled. He winces, but gives her a tight smile nonetheless.

She gives him one of those earnest, soulful looks only children can muster. She looks horribly concerned _. “Are these Mister Flint’s clothes?”_

He nods.

Her brow furrows as she looks back down at herself, fiddling with the sash around her waist. _“Do I have to grow a mustache like him too?”_

Silver can’t help it; he bursts into laughter, so hard he has to brace himself against the arms of the chair. Catalina, too, is giggling, and when she places a finger across her lips to mimic a mustache it just sets them off again, until they’re collapsed against the back of the chair, breathless and snickering. He can’t remember the last time he’d laughed like this; his face has begun to hurt from smiling.

 

*****

 

For a moment Flint simply stands in the doorway, taking in the sight before him. Silver hasn’t noticed his arrival, so caught up is he in his mirth. Flint finds himself glad for it; he can hardly remember when he’d last seen his quartermaster smile without a shade of bitterness or self-deprecation clouding it, and it’s oddly nice to see.

Silver used to smile all the time, before his accident. He’d always been quick to grin and charm his way out of a situation. The smiles might not have always been the most genuine, but there’d always been a twinkle in Silver’s eye, at least.

But now, watching Silver giggle with the girl, Flint wonders if he’s ever really seen Silver _truly_ smile. There’s no agenda here, no wheels turning behind those clever eyes; just a man enjoying himself.

Flint feels something warm settle in his chest at the sight, startling in its tenderness.

This doesn’t bode well.

The girl - Caitlin? Catalina? - shrieks with laughter suddenly, and Flint realizes that Silver has begun to tickle her sides. She wriggles on Silver’s lap, and Flint can see the moment she lands too harshly on his bad leg: Silver sucks in a sharp breath, scrunches his eyes shut tightly, then visibly calms himself, smiling down at her through the pain.

Silver’s become a master at hiding the agony his leg causes him, Flint knows. The only people who have ever really seen what the pain does to him are Howell and Flint himself, thanks to the weeks they spent together in the cabin of the warship while Silver was recuperating.

Silver’s more likely to just suffer through it than move her from his lap, so Flint at last clears his throat, announcing his presence.

He has to hold back a laugh of his own at the twin looks of wide-eyed guilt sent his way as Silver and the girl realize who it is that’s intruded upon their carefree moment.

“Captain, I - uh - ” Silver starts to get up, but Flint raises his hand and stops him.

“I just came to tell you supper will be ready shortly. I thought, given that your friend will be staying with us at least until we get back to Nassau, you might want to take it in the galley at my table. She’ll have to get used to the men, I suppose, and - are those _my_ clothes?”

Silver smirks, rolling up one of the girl’s sleeves from where it had fallen. “Not anymore, they’re not.”

“I only had three shirts!”

“Well, for a pirate, that’s practically excessive,” Silver retorts, then he turns to the girl. _“Catalina? Tienes hambre?”_

She shoots Flint a curious, nervous look, before shoving her face into Silver’s chest and nodding against it. Flint wonders, absently, what’s happened in the past twenty minutes to make her so very attached to the man.

It takes some coddling, but eventually Silver convinces her to go to the mess with them, tiny hand clenched tightly in his own.

Annoyed as he is with Silver for mutilating his clothing, Flint can’t help but admit when he sees her standing next to the man that the girl is - well, the word _precious_ comes to mind.

The mess falls silent when they walk in, and Catalina reverts back to her old ways, hiding behind Silver’s good leg. Silver smiles down at her reassuringly, before turning to address the crew.

He stomps twice. It’s echoed back.

“We have a guest with us tonight, friends, so I’ll expect everyone to be on their best behavior.” He bends over, whispers something in the girl’s ear, and ushers her in front of him, his hands on her shoulders. “This is Catalina.”

There’s a murmur of greetings from the crew, a few waving cautiously. It’s considered bad luck to have a woman on board, and Flint has no doubt that the less wise of the lot are wondering how this superstition applies to a miniature one.

The new cook they’d brought on, a man called Taylor, pipes up as he walks over to their table, handing them their stew.

“Kitty-lina? Wharse tha’ then, Sparnish?” Taylor had the misfortune of having been struck by apoplexy several years back, as well as being from Lancashire. The combined result of the accent and the apoplexy left the man’s speech somewhat lacking. A decent enough fellow, and a far better cook than Silver, but near-impossible to understand at times.

“That it is, Taylor,” Silver (who, of course, has never once struggled to understand the man) replies.

“That’s a good name for her,” Davies pipes up. “Kitty. You know, small and cute, likes to hide in tiny places?”

Silver turns to the girl, who’s been happily slurping at her stew, oblivious to the crew’s chatter. _“Que piensas? Te gusta ese nombre? ‘Kitty?’”_

She thinks on it, rubbing her chin as she’s no doubt seen countless adults do. _“Que es ‘Kitty’?”_

_“Un gatito.”_

Catalina’s whole face lights up. _“Soy un_ **_gatito?_ ** _”_ she squeals, clapping her hands together excitedly.

Silver laughs again, a full, boisterous thing. “There you have it, Davies! Kitty it is!”

Catalina - Kitty, now, Flint supposes - beams up at Silver adoringly before turning back to her food, kicking her legs back and forth as she hums a little ditty to herself.

Silver’s good mood seems to be infectious, and soon enough the whole of the crew is laughing and telling jokes, singing child-friendly shanties together. They’re all encouraged by Kitty’s delighted applause and cheers as they finish their songs.

It’s amazing, what one child’s enthusiasm can do for the crew’s morale. Though Flint wouldn’t be surprised if some of the men were more focused on keeping Silver happy than entertaining their guest.

It’s only when Kitty’s eyes start drooping, and her head starts to nod perilously close to her bowl, that Silver calls off the merriment, excusing himself to see the girl off to bed.

And then he seems to remember that she doesn’t have a bed, because he pauses and frowns thoughtfully.

Flint rolls his eyes, careful not to jostle Kitty too much as he picks her up. He knows Silver would prefer to do this, but Flint frankly isn’t sure he could manage it, given how many times he’d winced in pain during supper.

“She can stay in my cabin. I’ve spent my fair share of nights on the floor.”

Silver nods, but the concern hasn’t fully faded. “I - uh - ”

Flint sighs. “You can stay there too, if it’ll ease your mind. I’m sure she’d prefer to have you close.”

Silver seems to slump in relief, sending Flint a grateful smile. “I’ll have someone bring my hammock up?” he asks, and Flint nods, waving him off.

The rest of the men call out their goodnights to Kitty, smiling broadly and even letting out soft “aww”s as she waves sleepily back at them, rubbing her eyes and burrowing into Flint’s shoulder. He’s surprised that she’s being so familiar with him, but he supposes to a tired three year old any relatively soft surface is a good enough pillow.

Tucking her into bed is quick work; she’s out almost as soon as her head hits the pillow of Flint’s cot bed, and the sleepy grin he gets for draping a blanket across her shoulders makes his heart melt just a tad.

Silver and Muldoon come in soon after she falls asleep, the latter setting up Silver’s hammock without complaint as Silver limps over to check on his charge.

His soft smile at the sight of her curled up under the blanket is not one Flint’s seen on Silver’s face before. It’s almost tender.

Flint dismisses Muldoon, Silver nodding his thanks as the man takes his leave.

“I’ll take the floor,” Silver says quietly, and Flint snorts.

“You most certainly will not,” he replies.

Silver sends him a bewildered look. “The _one time_ I try to show you some deference, and you’re - ”

“Do you think I’m blind?” Flint interrupts him, and Silver shuts his mouth with an audible click. “You’re in pain. You’re always in pain, of course, because you refuse to use the crutch like the goddamn doctor tells you - ” He cuts himself off. Now’s not the time for that discussion. He can’t yell at Silver for being a prideful idiot when there’s a sleeping babe in the room, after all. “ - I will take the floor, and you will take off that fucking boot and get in the hammock.”

Silver takes a step forward, eyes bright with anger. “I don’t need your _fucking_ pity - ” he hisses, but Flint doesn’t let him finish the thought.

“It’s not pity, it’s common sense. You sleep on that floor, you’ll regret it in the morning.”

Silver scowls at him, clenching his jaw, but he says nothing more as he walks toward the hammock. They don’t exchange any words after that, retiring in stubborn silence. Flint falls quickly into an uneasy sleep, the adrenaline from this afternoon’s battle and the excitement of finding their stowaway wearing off, finally.

 

*****

 

At first, Flint doesn’t know what wakes him. It’s not until he hears the pit-patter of tiny feet along the wooden floor, and a sleepy rumble, that he realizes Kitty has gotten out of bed in search of Silver.  She’s crying, sniffling and hiccuping pitifully. There’s a quiet, strained grunt, and he knows Silver has pulled her up onto the hammock with him.

Flint realizes he could take this opportunity to reclaim his bed, but he doesn’t want to disturb the moment, or startle the crying girl.

 _“No lloras, mi amor,”_ Silver is murmuring softly, shushing her as she mumbles in rapid spanish, saying things like _‘mam_ _á_ _’_ and _‘oscuro.’_

There’s quiet for a time, just the occasional sniff and whimper from Kitty, until Silver starts to sing. Flint can just barely make out the words:

 

_“Durme, durme, mi alma donzella…_

_durme, durme, sin ansia y dolor…_

_durme, durme sin ansia y dolor..._

_Heq tu sclavo tanto dezea..._

_ver tu sueño con grande amor..._

_ver tu sueño con grande amor…”_

 

It’s strange: Flint’s spent enough time on the seas to know what Spanish sounds like, but there’s something not quite right about that song. It sounds like Spanish, yes, but somehow not. Like a strange hybrid of a language.

Silver’s voice grows softer and softer as the song goes on, no doubt hushing himself as Kitty starts to fall asleep.

Silver’s voice is rough and unsteady, as if he’s struggling to remember the words as he goes along, but it’s pleasing enough to the ear, and there’s enough warmth in his tone to enchant even the coldest of listeners.

The lullaby is meant to soothe Kitty, but it is Flint who finds his eyes growing heavy as he listens to Silver sing.

 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> taylor the cook and his...verbal troubles was inspired by my own grandpa, who i adored as a child but who i very rarely understood.
> 
> here is a [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YTUrCuoe86U) to the ladino lullaby silver sings. it's beautiful, and apparently very, very old. like...crusades old.


	2. a disagreement between "dads"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> early days in kitty's life on the walrus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone for your kind words, and your positive response to this fic! this chapter is unfortunately shorter than the first, sorry.

Two things are abundantly clear to Silver when he wakes. One: there’s a tiny person lying on his stomach. And two: he desperately needs a piss.

When he finally squints his eyes open to peer down at Kitty, snuggling into him in her sleep, he notices a third, perhaps equally important thing: Flint is staring at him.

It’s not like he’s a stranger to having Flint’s eyes on him: the captain is constantly evaluating those around him, looking for weakness or any traces of disloyalty, and Silver is no exception. The weight of Flint’s stare is a heavy one, to which Silver has grown accustomed.

But this look feels different.

For one, Flint doesn’t seem to realize that Silver is awake. He’s staring at where Kitty’s hands have curled into Silver’s shirt, clutching onto him as she dreams. This particular stare from Flint doesn’t feel assessing so much as pensive, thoughtful. It’s as if he’s trying to wrap his head around the sight of his lying, scheming, thieving quartermaster cuddling with a three year old.

Kitty snuffles into his chest a bit, and Silver can’t help the grin that grows on his face at the sight. He tucks a curl that’s come loose from her plait behind her ear, smiling fondly down at her. When he looks back at Flint, smile still in place, there’s an expression he’s not familiar with on his captain’s face. He looks, all too briefly, almost _alarmed_ , before his expression smoothes into his usual mask of indifference.

Silver doesn’t quite know what to make of this, so he falls back on what he does best: deflecting.

“Captain, what does one do when he desperately need to piss but finds himself trapped by a sleeping octopus?”

Flint snorts, turning to his desk. “Detach the tentacles as gently as you can, I suppose.”

Prying Kitty from his chest is a slow process, made even slower by the shooting pain he feels as he swings his legs (well, leg and a half) over the side of the hammock. He can’t help his sharp inhale, or the strained noise he lets out.

Flint’s eyes are back on him in an instant. “Silver?”

Silver shakes his head, waving away Flint’s concern. “I’m fine,” he says, reaching for his peg.

Flint frowns. “Howell says - ”

“I know what Howell says,” Silver cuts him off with a glare. He goes to put his stump in the boot, but he hesitates to finish the job, knowing Flint is watching. There’s a reason why he only ever takes the boot off, or puts it on, by himself or with Howell. Doing this almost always brings tears to his eyes, and the last thing he needs is Flint to see that blatant weakness so soon into his tenure as Quartermaster.

It’s been two months; surely a stronger man would be able to better handle this pain, would be able to cope more easily.

Flint looks away, giving him his privacy, and Silver’s pathetically grateful. It’s quick work to put on the peg, mostly because if Silver drags it out any longer than he has to he’ll never go through with it. He manages to limit the noise he makes to one small groan, and he blinks away the tears as quickly as he can.

He doesn’t look at Flint as he walks out of the cabin to go relieve himself. He doesn’t want to give the man an opportunity to see his red eyes, or the agony lining his face as he readjusts to the peg.

By the time Silver’s returned from the head, Kitty is awake and entertaining herself by swinging the hammock back and forth. She lets out a happy yell when he walks back into the cabin.

 _“Señor Silver!”_ She hops down from the hammock and runs toward him, throwing her arms around his good leg. As soon as she has his full attention, she’s off. _“Can I see your Walrus ship? Can I steer the big wheel? Can we go eat breakfast? Can I - ”_

 _“Yes, yes, yes,”_ he says with a chuckle, briefly thankful that Flint’s not fluent in Spanish. He doesn’t know how the captain would react to Kitty’s assertion that the Walrus is actually _his_ ship. _“Breakfast first, okay?”_

He looks over at Flint, opens his mouth to ask if he needs anything, but the Captain just waves him off. “See to her. I’ll go over the haul with DeGroot later.”

There’s only a handful of men awake: Silver had forgotten just how _early_ small children tend to rise in the morning. The sun’s barely up, and Taylor has only just started making the breakfast for the men.

Fortunately for them, Silver is arguably Taylor’s favorite on the ship (as he’s one of the few who can hold a lengthy conversation with the man), and Kitty is deplorably cute even as she yawns and rubs the sleep from her eyes; it takes less than a minute for the cook to cave and hand them both an apple each.

Silver takes her back above deck after that, sitting on a barrell and holding her on his lap while they eat their small meal and watch the waves churn. Kitty sings a little song to herself between bites, swinging her legs and bobbing her head.

“Manzana, manzana, mas-ti-ca-mos! Manzana, manzana mas-ti-ca….”

Her apple song trails off, and when Silver glances away from the skyline he sees that Billy has grabbed her attention. The boatswain is headed their way, no doubt to bring Silver up to speed on what he missed last night, given how early he retired to the captain’s cabin.

Only, when Billy reaches them, Kitty drops her apple (Silver just barely catches it; he doesn’t want to waste their food while out at sea) and reaches for him, making pitiful, plaintive noises. From the look on Billy’s face, one would think she was threatening him, rather than asking him to pick her up.

“Uh...Silver?” Billy asks, slightly panicked.

“Just pick her up, Billy. You’re like a climbing frame.”

Billy does so reluctantly, letting her climb up his arm and settle herself on his shoulders. When she lets out an excited whoop, a small smile spreads across Billy’s face.

Joshua walks by - no doubt roused for his morning watch - and stops to wave up at her. “Morning, Kitty! You’ve grown a bit since last night, eh?”

Kitty returns Joshua’s friendly grin, though she looks to Silver for a translation.

 _“He says you’re very tall, now,”_ Silver explains, and she giggles.

Joshua’s watch partner (Muldoon, this morning) calls out to him, and so he moves on with another wave, which Kitty returns so enthusiastically that she wobbles perilously on Billy’s shoulders.

“Silver, we should probably discuss - ”

“Oi! Kitty! How’d you get all the way up there? You a giant catcher?” A voice interrupts them, and before long they’re fairly swarmed by bleary-eyed crewmen, all laughing and chatting more amiably than they have in weeks.

Silver thinks, seeing Kitty giggle as she watches the crew’s antics, glancing over to see Flint standing at the rail and shaking his head in amusement, that he could get used to this.

 

 

*****

 

 

Silver leans against the rail of the quarterdeck, watching as Kitty flits from post to post, poking her nose into the men’s work and trying to distract them away from their tasks to come play with her. He grins as he hears his crew calling out hello’s to their little stowaway, as Muldoon offers her a piece of the bread he’s eating, as Billy doesn’t hesitate to stoop down and lift her onto his shoulders as soon as she raises her arms to him.

She’s hardly been here a week, and already it feels as if she’s always been here.

Kitty has taken a liking to De Groot, who, while fond of the girl, doesn’t really know what to do with her. The old codger has learned that the “shoo”-ing motion is universal, and that waving his hands at her with a smile will do the trick to send her on her way. She also adores Joji, and often times stands behind him as he sharpens his daggers and sword, playing with his (admittedly luxurious) hair and chattering away. Silver doesn’t know if Joji even speaks Spanish, but he doesn’t think either of them mind the language gap.

“She seems to have gotten used to that nickname awfully quickly,” Flint says, sidling up next to him at the railing.

Silver hums in agreement, and - as if somehow attuned their conversation - Kitty whips her head around to wave at Silver from where she’s perched on Billy’s shoulders. She does this constantly - no matter where she is on deck, no matter who she’s with, she’ll always look back to Silver for reassurance, to make sure he’s there if she needs him. He waves back, chuckling to himself as she pokes at Billy until he too waves at his captain and quartermaster.

“I think it suits her. She reminds me of Betsy, the way she fits into every nook and cranny of this ship, the way she’s wormed her way into all our soft spots.” Kitty, they’ve learned, loves to play hide-and-seek, and - well, Silver’s days of crawling around are over, so he more often than not stumbles upon her crouched behind a barrel or under a table, mid-game and shushing him so he won’t give away her hiding spot.

“Awfully adaptable for a three year old, don’t you think? Adjusting to a new environment, new people, and now even a new name?”

“It’ll be good for her, in the long run.”

Flint sends him a questioning look, so Silver elaborates.

“When she looks back on her time on that French vessel, about hiding in that tiny, dark closet, she’ll be able to distance herself from it. ‘That didn’t happen to Kitty, it happened to Catalina,’ she can say to herself. ‘It wasn’t me who slept next to the rats and the spiders, it was Catalina.’”

“‘It wasn’t me the other boys loathed, it was Solomon Little,’” Flint says without missing a beat, giving Silver a perceptive, sharp look.

There’s the slightest trace of pity in his gaze, and it makes Silver want to crawl out of his skin. He winces at how transparent he’d been, how easily Flint had seen through his own coping methods. He’s been focusing so much on Kitty lately, he’s hardly stopped to think about maintaining his much-needed barriers with everyone else.

“Just so,” he replies with a grimace, acknowledging Flint’s victory in this particular round of chess, this game they play. It’s a constant give-and-take between them, he knows. Neither of them ever maintains the upper hand for long.

Flint, bless his goddamn fucking intuitive brain, must realize how uncomfortable Silver is, how vulnerable he suddenly feels, and so he changes the subject, just like that. It’s an allowance he wouldn’t have made before he lost his leg, Silver’s sure, and he doesn’t know whether to be irritated or just grateful.

“We had a raid planned for the day after next,” Flint gives Silver a pointed look.

“Yes, I’m aware. Bath, isn’t it? The magistrate hanged four men for piracy a fortnight ago. I do pay attention when you talk, you know. Sometimes,” he replies, forcing a cocky smirk he doesn’t quite feel onto his face. “Last I checked, we were still headed that way.”

“Do you not see the problem in front of us?”

Silver frowns. “No?”

Flint lets out an exasperated sort of noise, before gesturing to Kitty, who now seems to be trying to convince Joshua to let her climb into the rigging. The exchange mostly consists of her attempting to climb up the ropes and Joshua immediately picking her up and putting her back on the ground.

“Kitty. What exactly do you plan to do with her during the raid?”

Silver has actually given this matter quite a bit of thought. “She’ll be in your cabin with one of the riggers. Davies, most likely. It’s the safest place for her, though I doubt we’ll see any action on the ship itself.”

In the months they’ve been raiding these coastal towns, not once has the Walrus been fired upon, due the combination of Flint’s skill in navigating in the dark and the absolute terror their little militias must feel at the sight of a black flag in their waters. And at any rate, if someone were to fire upon the Walrus, they’d be aiming for the main deck or below, taking out cannons and trying to sink her. The captain’s cabin is the safest place to hide their little kitten.

“So you’re just going to sacrifice an able bodied man - ”

“Oh, come off it. There are two dozen men on the vanguard, and another two dozen on deck. One man playing sitter won’t break the operation. And don’t for one minute think I don’t know you want her safe just as badly as I do.”

Flint clenches his jaw, but doesn’t deny it. There’s silence for a time, Flint staring unseeing at some point on the deck, before he turns back to Silver, a hard look in his eyes. “It’s one thing to have a child on board while we’re at sea, doing nothing more than going through the motions. It’s quite another to have her while we’re in battle. It’s easy to forget, looking at them dote on her, but these men are murderers, pirates. How well do you think she’ll take it when she sees her new playmates return to the Walrus covered in the blood of others? Or when one of them fails to return at all?”

He walks away at that, heading to talk to De Groot about the wind or some such nonsense, and Silver is left with nothing but his warring thoughts.

It’s not unusual, for Silver to be drowning in his own doubts in Flint’s wake.

 

 

******

 

 

Kitty had, to Flint’s surprise, been absolutely fine during the raid. Flint had returned to his cabin, hands still shaking and splattered with blood, to find her and Davis both asleep on the floor, next to a pile of parchment that had been sacrificed for the girl’s artistic endeavors.

He should have been irritated at the lack of privacy he has, coming back from such a night, but he finds that the sight of Kitty, safe and sound and sniffling in her sleep, settles him in a way that’s almost startling.

He wakes Davies and sends him on his way, washes his hands and face at the basin in the corner, and then picks Kitty up to tuck her into her and Silver’s shared hammock. Silver will be with the men for another hour at least; no reason for either of them to wait up for him.

When Silver expresses his concern for Flint’s position on the vanguard the next day, while Kitty is playing with Joshua and Dooley, something in him snaps.

Flint knows he’s being unreasonable with Silver. He knows his behavior has been erratic, and that it’s distressing the man.

He just - doesn’t know what the fuck to _do_ with himself around Silver.

That first morning with Kitty, when he’d watched as Silver had curled his broad hands around her tiny frame, watched the slow, gentle smile on his face as he looked down at her sleeping face, Flint had felt something horribly soft and warm spread through his chest, something he hadn’t felt since -

And then he’d proceeded to freak the fuck out, because what the _fuck_ was he doing, feeling things like _that_ in relation to John _fucking_ Silver?

He’s spent the past week and a half flitting between staring at his quartermaster and his little shadow and then lashing out at Silver once his heart calms the fuck down.

“In my head, you’re not welcome,” he says to Silver, furious that he would presume to know anything about who Flint is, that he could possibly understand what Flint’s going through.

He can see in Silver’s eyes how frustrated he is, how lost; he’s in over his head, and he refuses to admit it to anyone, even himself. But any empathy Flint might have felt for Silver is negligible compared to the rage and grief that had overcome him at the mention of Miranda.

He turns away, unwilling to look a second longer at Silver’s hurt expression. He hears Silver’s frustrated exhale, then the heavy thudding of his iron leg as he leaves the cabin.

Flint sits behind his desk, rests his head in his hands, and tries not to think about Silver’s sad blue eyes, about the last time someone looked at him with such genuine concern.

 

 

*****

 

 

It’s - uncomfortable, to say the least, when Silver returns to the cabin with Kitty in the evening, the fond smile on his face as he listens to her chatter not quite reaching his eyes. He gives Flint the barest of glances, his focus entirely on the girl as he lifts her into the hammock they still share.

She’s asleep within minutes, but not before Flint hears her whisper something to Silver in what is definitely _not_ Spanish.

It’s not the first time he’s heard this tongue from her: that night, when Silver had sung to her, had only been the first of several instances where things hadn’t quite added up. She and Silver have only ever spoken it while they’re alone, in the cabin, when they think Flint’s asleep or when they don’t realize he’s just outside the door.

He has his suspicions about what the language is. If he’s right, it would certainly explain Silver’s skittish, distrustful nature, explain the haunted look that sometimes crosses his face when he looks at Kitty.

It would also explain why Silver refuses to use the chamberpot in the cabin unless Flint is elsewhere.

“We need to talk about what we’re going to do with her,” he says quietly, careful not to wake her. He’s already made himself an adversary to Silver today. What’s one more difficult conversation?

Silver gives him a sharp look, then moves to lean against the desk. Flint sits on his cot, a mirror of their positions from this afternoon, when he’d shut Silver out so coldly.

“She was safe during the raid. I told you, keeping her in your cabin was the best - ”

“I meant what we were going to do with her when we reach Nassau.”

Silver frowns. “I thought I’d find her some decent clothes. Those pants are swallowing her as it is, and - ”

“You can’t be serious,” Flint interrupts, incredulous. “Silver, she can’t stay with us. It’s too dangerous by far for a child to stay on board while we’re at war.”

“What would you have me do? Leave her with someone we trust on Nassau? There _is_ no one we trust on Nassau. We might have an accord with Rackham, with Vane, but that doesn’t mean I’d trust them with her.”

“There’s an orphanage further inland, run by fairly decent people from what I’ve heard - ”

Silver stands at this, his eyes bright with anger. “ _No_ . I won’t leave her in some - some _home_ , run by total strangers. It’s not - ”

“Is this reluctance purely based on your own supposed experiences in that home for orphaned boys, or is it because she’s a Jew?”

Silver’s eyes widen, and he immediately shifts to stand between Flint and Kitty, as if to shield her from a imagined threat. Flint does not miss the way his hand has gone to the hilt of his dagger. “That’s - ”

“Are you concerned that without you there to shield her, to guide her, she might reveal herself? That she might make an innocent mistake, and - ”

“Shut up. _Shut up_ ,” Silver says, cutting Flint off, one hand clenched tightly at his side. Flint realizes, with a start, that under his irritation, his defensiveness, Silver looks petrified. He thought he’d seen Silver afraid before, when he’d had him up against those rocks, a knife to his throat, but this is something else altogether. He’s trembling from the strength of his terror.

“Silver,” he starts, taking a step forward, and Silver immediately moves backward, closer to Kitty and clutching at his blade convulsively. Flint stops moving. “ _John_. I won’t hurt her.”

Silver doesn’t move from where he stands, but he does, after a moment’s hesitation, take his hand off his dagger. “I won’t abandon her,” he says quietly, desperately. “I can’t.”

“Nassau isn’t Spain. It isn’t - wherever it is you came from.” He sincerely doubts it’s England, accent or not, now that his suspicions have been confirmed.

“What difference do you think that makes? Hating Jews isn’t a trait exclusive to the Iberian Peninsula.”

The Iberian Peninsula. Not Spain, then. Portugal, Flint guesses. He wonders if Silver even realizes he’s slipped up, or if he’s too rattled at being found out to notice.

“Silver, I understand that it might be dangerous for her in a home, but surely you must realize the constant risk she’s under while aboard the Walrus.”

“I won’t leave her alone,” he says. “I don’t care how _weak_ you think that makes me, or how irrational you think I’m acting.”

“Silver - ”

Silver turns away from him, grabbing a book from the shelf and moving to sit on the hammock next to Kitty. It’s the first time he’s been so dismissive to his captain, and yet Flint can’t find it in him to be angry. He’s willing to let Silver be, for now, if only so the man can rebuild some of his defenses, think more clearly.

Still, he has to ask… “Were you really going to fight me?”

He would have lost within moments, scrappy though he may be.

Silver looks up from the book, shrugs. “I wasn’t looking forward to it.”

 

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kitty's apple/manzana song is inspired by my three year old cousin's bologna song. kids are wild, man.
> 
> also, to the two people who asked: yes, kitty is named after my favorite jewish character of all time, kitty pryde. i am that much of an x men hoe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> very short chapter, posted as a thank you to everyone who still gives a shit about this fic <3\. sorry i've been so bad about updating, school's been kicking my ass.

“She’s a hunter,” Flint says, his expression growing dark with the realization. He calls out for a chart, and Silver’s quick to follow with his own order.

“Davies! Get Kitty from below, tell Taylor to take her to the captain’s cabin.”

If it’s a fight they’re facing, better to keep her safe and hidden, with the cook to distract her from the frightening noises soon to follow. 

“Mr. Silver,” a voice says from behind him, and he turns to see Dobbs with a suspiciously thoughtful look on his face. It’s never a good thing, Dobbs thinking. “Don’t you think - wouldn’t the ship be more likely to ceasefire if they knew there was a child aboard? Shouldn’t we...”

Silver doesn’t hear the rest of what Dobbs says, seeing red as soon as he catches the other man’s meaning. 

He moves into Dobbs’s space, thunderous. “If you even  _ whisper _ that thought to any other members of the crew, if you so much as  _ think _ of putting that child at risk in such a way again, I will run you through with my cutlass before the hunter even opens its gun ports.”

Dobbs has gone pale, his eyes wide. 

“Understood?”

A nod.

“Man your station, Mr. Dobbs.”

Dobbs bolts, and Silver tries not to feel to smug about frightening one of his men. 

Then Billy explains to him that there’s no way they’ll be able to outrun the hunter (because Silver knows fuck all about sailing, and Billy knows it), and then the hunter turns out to be  _ fucking _ Hornigold, and the world turns on its head.     

Flint’s voice, low and throaty though it is, carries easily across the crowd of men. Flint has a gift for words perhaps even greater than Silver’s own, but these past months have seen less and less of Flint the orator and more and more of Flint the executioner. Silver’s almost missed Flint’s grand speeches. 

“I can walk away from this fight if I just sign my name beneath a solemn oath never again to do violence against it,” Flint says, and this is where he hooks them. “No. Not after all it has taken from me. Not after all it has taken from you. I will do great violence against that thing. They say they will pardon us all, but I say to offer to pardon something one fears is the act of a coward. To offer them in volume suggests that their fear of us is becoming unmanageable, that we have shown them what we are capable of and it terrifies them. Do any of you want to surrender to men who fear you? Lay down arms in a battle that we are winning?”

Several of the men look to Silver, seeking him out for guidance. He pays them no mind, mesmerized by Flint as ever. 

“Fuck Benjamin Hornigold, his king, and their pardons. This war isn't nearly over.”

“We're not fighting, and we're not surrendering,” Silver starts, tentative. “So what are we doing?”

“We’re heading that way,” Flint gestures to the storm on the horizon. Silver doesn’t need to hear De Groot to know it’s a ship killer. 

Flint walks away, and he feels the eyes of every crewman on him. They’re waiting, he realizes, for him to contradict Flint, for him to tell them what to do. 

He says nothing.

 

 

*****

 

 

Kitty races towards Silver, latching onto his good leg before he’s fully inside the cabin. 

_ “Señor Silver!” _

He leans down, picking her up and sitting her on Flint’s desk. He needs to go below, needs to help Muldoon, but not before he reassures her.

_ “Hello, love. Were you frightened by the noise?”  _ He slips into Ladino, sure that their shared language will bring her some degree of comfort.

She nods, clutching onto his jacket. He strokes a hand over her head, trying his best to soothe her. 

_ “We’re going to be sailing through a thunderstorm. It’ll be very loud, and very dark, and probably very scary.”  _ Better to be honest, he thinks, and have her somewhat aware of what’s coming.

Kitty’s eyes grow wide and anxious.  _ “But you’ll be with me?” _

He shakes his head, and she lets out a frightened little whimper. He hastens to reassure her.  _ “I’ll be below deck, not too far. Shall I get a friend to keep you company? Maybe Joshua?” _

She sniffles, then nods. Silver presses a kiss to her forehead, then helps her off the desk. _ “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” _

He tries not to think about how likely it is that he (and any number of her playmates) may not survive the storm. Silver calls out for Joshua, sends him in with Kitty, and within seconds, Flint grabs him by the arm.

“We need every able-bodied man available to us, and you’re sending one of our best to be a  _ sitter?” _

Silver grimaces at Flint’s unintentional reminder that he himself is not one of those able-bodied men, jerking his arm out of the captain’s grip. But he stands firm in his judgment.

“You and I both know that Joshua is on this ship for one reason, and it’s not his skill in the rigging. What’s he going to do, bare his false fangs at the sky? Swipe his cutlass through the rain?”

Flint glowers at him, but Silver knows he’s right. After a tense, charged moment, Flint walks away, shouting for Billy. Silver makes his way onto the main deck, pulling his hair back into a ponytail. He should be heading below, to help Muldoon, but he finds himself mesmerized by the dark, looming clouds growing ever closer. 

He’d hated storms as a boy: even in the summer months, if one couldn’t find shelter it would spell a freezing, sleepless night. Sometimes, shelter was just under the closest bridge, and still the night would be long, spent lying in mud and praying the river wouldn’t rise in his sleep.

It’s only when Billy approaches him that Silver finally admits what’s been on his mind, what it is that’s twisted his stomach into knots even more than the storm on the horizon.

“Flint had them exactly where he needed them - angry, resentful, afraid. I understand why they would rather do battle with that storm. But he had me there too. He had me there. And that is not supposed to happen.”

How is he supposed to look out for the men’s best interests, be a buffer between them and Flint, if he’s just as easily taken in as the rest of them? If he lets himself be drawn in by Flint’s magnetism, curious and enthralled? He’d thought himself immune to Flint’s games, an expert at manipulation himself, and yet there he’d been, a perfect fool.

Muldoon, at least, will take his mind off his weakness when it comes to the captain. He’s long since forgiven Silver for the incident with the pig, and has since the loss of his leg become a close companion for the quartermaster. It certainly helps that Muldoon took to Kitty so easily, within days establishing himself as one of her go-to playmates. 

With Muldoon, Silver knows, he can put his guard down.

 

 

*****

 

 

Flint first wakes to the sound of someone crying softly.

It’s muffled, the sobs hitched and strained, as though whomever it is has long since grown used to spilling tears in the dark. Flint knows from experience how physically painful that sort of crying can be; how it feels as though your chest might cave in from the pressure of keeping quiet. 

Flint feels like he’s been trampled by a horse - or a storm, he supposes - and so it takes several long moments for him to push himself onto his elbows and try to find the source of the noise.

He doesn’t know why he’s so taken aback when he realizes it’s Silver who’s been crying; there are only so many people who spend time in his cabin, and Silver himself is the only man other than himself who’s ever in here in the evenings.

Perhaps he’s just never seen Silver quite so vulnerable. Even after he’d lost his leg, Flint had rarely seen him cry. Silver had been more angry than anything else, at least when Flint was looking.

Silver’s curled around Kitty - fast asleep and oblivious to her companion’s distress - his face buried into her curls as he weeps. His hair is still damp from the storm, and his clothes, no doubt drenched, are laid out on the chair next to Flint’s desk, save for his breeches. 

Kitty shifts in her sleep, mumbling slightly, and Silver freezes, clearly worried he’s woken her. Silver shifts onto his back, and Kitty immediately settles, her head resting against his chest. 

Flint watches as Silver heaves a shuddering sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The moon is just bright enough that Flint can make out how very bright his eyes are, can see the tears sliding down the side of his face.

It speaks volumes to how distraught Silver is that he hasn’t noticed Flint observing him; the man is practically obsessive about putting on fronts and maintaining the ways in which he’s perceived.

Eventually, Flint grows too exhausted to continue his strange, intrusive vigil - indeed, he’s not sure why he didn’t look away as soon as he’d realized how terribly he’d been invading Silver’s privacy -  and he lowers himself onto his back, falling into a restless sleep, haunted as ever by nightmares of Miranda.

 

 

*****

  
  


It doesn’t take long after Flint wakes for him to realize what had caused Silver such distress. 

It’s not that they’re becalmed, though that in itself would be enough to make a weaker man weep; it’s when Billy runs through a list of the dead, and Flint hears Muldoon’s name among them. Silver had been below deck with Muldoon when Flint had taken the helm.

Flint is careful to ask about Muldoon third, after one of the riggers and Taylor, so as not to be too obvious in his concern for Silver. Based on the look Billy gives him before answering, he is not nearly subtle enough.

“Silver was trapped with him in the hold. He watched him die.”

“Jesus,” Flint mutters to himself, running a hand across his scalp. No wonder Silver had been so distraught. He walks away to get a better handle on their bearings from De Groot, trying to push the image of Silver crying in his hammock from his mind. 

He returns to find Silver and Billy talking in hushed tones. 

“I know I brought this upon us - ”

“Flint was the one who sent us into that storm, not you.”

“I should have known Hallendale’s ship was a trap, should have been more cautious - ”

Billy grabs Silver by the shoulders, and Flint tamps down on the sudden rush of irritation at the sight. It’s so  _ easy _ , for Billy to touch Silver. Silver doesn’t even blink at the contact.

“It’s over now. All we can do is move forward. The men need you. Kitty needs you. Don’t let him get in your head.”

Silver nods, almost to himself, and when he looks at Billy again, he seems nervous. “And - the other thing?”

Billy shrugs. “I’m fine with it: you know I’d do anything for that little girl. I would be surprised if any of the men felt differently.”

“And what exactly is Mr. Silver asking you to do?” Flint finally interrupts, heading down the stairs to join them on the gun deck. 

Silver startles badly, but Billy doesn’t seem surprised at all to discover Flint was listening. He probably intended for Flint to hear his advice for Silver. 

“Silver doesn’t think Kitty should be forced to go on rations, small as she is.”

It looks as though Silver is bracing himself for Flint’s dissention, preparing to defend his proposition. It’s irritating, to know that Silver’s doubts about his sense of compassion aren’t entirely unwarranted. Still, despite how hard he tries, Flint has yet to become so monstrous as to force a child to starve.

“Of course. No child, especially one as young as Kitty, should be allowed to go hungry if we can help it,” At his words,Silver practically deflates in relief, and Billy even cracks a smile, but Flint has to finish his thought. “Still, it’s not entirely our decision. You’d be cutting the men’s rations to give her proper meals, no matter how little she usually eats. If they don’t agree to it, we’ll have to find some other way to give her what she needs.”

Of course, Flint needn’t have worried. As soon as Silver addresses the issue with the men, most of them practically fall over themselves to second the plan.

“...I know this is, quite frankly, too much to ask, especially given that it was me who brought her aboard in the first place,” Silver says, sounding genuinely contrite, “But….she’s little more than a  _ baby _ . I cannot in good conscience force her to starve herself, to make her suffer as we all surely will soon enough. Of course, it is your decision, in the end. If you’d prefer she live off rations like the rest of us, I suppose there’s nothing I can do but - ”

“Of course she shouldn’t be on rations!” One of the men calls out, interrupting Silver’s carefully constructed speech.

“That’s our girl! We oughta take care of her!” Davies chimes in, to a chorus of agreements from the surrounding men. 

It turns out, all it takes to make group of murderous, treacherous pirates act selflessly is a particularly charming, sweet little girl. Hopefully England won’t catch on to the Walrus crew’s sudden weakness: small, curly haired Jews with too-bright smiles and a near unparalleled ability to tear down Flint’s walls.

 

*****

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! comments and kudos are appreciated, but not demanded :)
> 
> my black sails tumblr is slverjohn, if anyone's interested.
> 
> in case there's any confusion, the pattern is: silver pov, silver pov, flint pov, flint pov, and then repeat


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